


Cracks in the mirror

by AphroditeB00w



Series: Expectations [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Demisexuality, M/M, Male Homosexuality, boys school, draco malfoy drama queen, harry potter golden child, highschool, in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 00:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditeB00w/pseuds/AphroditeB00w
Summary: This is Expectations written from Draco POV.Draco is...fairly dramatic.





	1. 1

**_ Chapter 1 _ **

Everything changed the day Draco had offered the handkerchief.

It had been stupid, when he looked back on it, and had regretted the action almost instantly. But he couldn’t risk seeming as if he had made a mistake, so he hadn’t retracted the offer. The startled boy had looked at him, completely taken aback. Draco simply continued to look bored, but patiently waited for Harry to take the offering.

The entire time they had worked silently back to back, Draco had felt on edge. He heard with perfect accuracy every scrape of a box and rustle of paper. He even turned slightly to watch the other boy at his work, and saw him sloppily arranging piles that threatened to fall over as he sorted through eons of stock taking back logs. Draco for his part did his job as he did everything, with organised precision. The two sides of the storeroom looked very different, most notably, Harry’s side looked exactly as it had when they arrived, and Draco’s actually seemed to be making progress through the chaos.

His eyes snatched quick looks, unnoticed by the other boy. Harry had removed his school jumper and tie in the stiflingly hot room. Draco saw his shoulder muscles slope and bunch as he worked, his posture slouched. His hair was a total mess, probably because Harry Potter constantly, clearly without realising he was doing it, pushed his hand through it. _If the idiot just got a haircut_ … Draco thought. But observing Harry made his mouth dry. He turned away quickly and chalked it up to the dusty room, and stayed that way until he heard a huge sneeze.

Draco saw the boy patting his pockets for a tissue, presumably to blow his nose and he snorted. And then Draco found his hand was already holding out the handkerchief.

Nothing had been said since then, and a week later Draco was still regretting it. He and Potter were not even remotely friends, in fact they were decidedly opposite. Draco treated with him with the same malicious contempt he used on everyone, and Potter for his part returned in kind, as was his preference.  

 _But then why did you do something so reckless_? He berated himself. If Potter told anyone about what he had done, a small act of unmerited politeness, he could use it against him. Draco Malfoy was not polite, or helpful, and certainly did not offer his personal handkerchief to a known adversary. Draco would have to cover his tracks then, create an elaborate lie, and put more effort into his carefully constructed position at this school….just thinking it made him tired. He had been feeling more of that lately…

Then Potter had corned him after class, when everyone was gone. As he held out the handkerchief, newly cleaned and pressed, Draco found himself looking for the catch. Were his friends watching from the doorway, was there some sort of prank in the hanky itself? Draco immediately began concocting a suitably disdainful response when Potter told him, with no guile at all, that he hadn’t told a soul.

It took Draco a moment to believe him. Potter and he had never been friends, but he knew Potter wasn’t malicious or underhanded. Not like Draco himself…. He took back the cloth and muttered a small thanks, and found himself caught in a strange silence with Potter.

Then:

“Look, I don’t get it. You’re a real git most of the time. Then you do some small nice thing out of nowhere...” Harry paused, and his eyes shifted away, then moved back to Draco’s “I just don’t get it, that’s all.”

For a moment, Draco saw that he meant it as it was, Potter had no ulterior motive. He wasn’t trying to get the upper hand, or trying to embarrass him, he just wanted to know. But the moment passed and he looked away. He muttered his thanks and walked away before Draco couldn’t think of what to say. He turned away, to find himself slightly light-headed from the encounter.

Draco had a terrible secret. He knew it was terrible, and he accepted it with bitter resignation. He had always noticed Harry Potter. Or rather, he had been unable to ignore him. From the very first time they met. As introspective as he had to be, analysing his every action and reaction, he knew this about himself. And though he had tried, he couldn’t stop noticing him. It was not good, because Draco Malfoy had an image to maintain, he could not show even one sign that he wasn’t totally in control of himself. And so in an effort to deny his observation of the boy, he simply turned his sharp tongue in his direction. It wasn’t too difficult. Draco was practiced at treating others rudely, having had lessons in it his whole life, and Harry Potter for his part, seemed appropriately irritated and avoided Draco when he could. When he couldn’t avoid it and Draco had to be more pointedly nasty, he responded as anyone would when needled and taunted. But far from being put down, he simply gave as well as he got, he never backed down, though he never initiated either. It suited Draco fine, because it was enough to keep the boy away from him, and his thoughts turned decidedly away from Harry Potter.

But after that encounter, Draco felt different. He couldn’t explain it. What he had said was burying under his skin like some small tiny mite, and wouldn’t leave him alone. Draco, in a moment of supreme stupidity, had shown a different side to himself that even Draco doubted existed. And instead of chalking it up to a bad day, or ignoring it completely as would have been easiest, Harry didn’t let it go. He actually confronted him on it. The only person who had ever seen the secret side of Draco, hadn’t turned away or turned it against him.

Draco wrestled with himself about it. He became annoyed, frustrated and downright pissed off. To think that Harry Potter thought he had some sort of right to judge him? It was outrageous. But Draco couldn’t escape it. Then a week later, he found himself unusually in the library doing his homework. He had barely been able to do in his own common room with his many ‘friends’ surrounding him, so desperate were they to make themselves stand out against the others in his eyes he could barely concentrate….Draco simply couldn’t stomach it that day. He sought refuge in the quiet shelves of the library. And saw Potter.

Again, the boy looked as if he had just fallen out of bed. Did he even own a hair brush? His collar was undone and his tie hung loosely around it, his shirt untucked. He simply draped himself across the library desk, which, although it was designed to accommodate two students at least, he had managed to fill up with his school bag, books, discarded jumper, and more books. He was gazing with a glazed expression at his homework, his pen tapping on the pages. Draco knew he was notorious for handing his work in late, and now he saw why. He had very little organisation. But he was here at least, in the dead of night, doing it anyway.

Draco had a brief moment of indecision. He looked around, making sure they were absolutely the only ones in the library. And, without realising the bravery of his decision, stepped forward and sat down across from Potter. Potter, for his part, seemed as surprised by the visit as he himself was. Suddenly he saw his foolishness but knew he couldn’t retreat without it seeming even stranger. So he drew a breath.

“It is expected of me.” He said. He found his voice held nothing of its usual sneer. He was simply talking, for once.

“What is?” Harry replied, still confused.

Now Draco’s instinct kicked in, and he rolled his eyes. “Being a ‘Git’.” He answered.

He watched Harry’s eyes widen as he suddenly realised that Draco was referring to their earlier conversation. Green eyes, grass green. As always.

“Oh.” He answered stupidly.

Draco heaved a sigh but forged on. “When you carry a highly influential family name, and your father practically owns the school, there are expectations. There have always been…expectations.” He finished off quietly, hoping he had not revealed too much. He felt alarmingly bare, and he was already regretting this ridiculous meeting.

“So you’re saying, you have to be a pompous prat because your dad wants you to be?” Harry asked bluntly.

Draco felt slapped by the words. He responded acidly “The pressures in a family like mine are beyond what you can understand, Potter.”

Harry raised his hands, indicating surrender, and Draco thought he saw a flicker of regret there.

“Ok ok, I’m not rich, I don’t get it.” He answered a light tone. “So are you saying you’re not actually a really unpleasant person who picks on the little guy?”

This was too much. What a stupid, idiotic conversation. Here he was, trying to forge some sort of connection and all the prat could do was throw it back at him…he really should have known better. Bitter, and hiding his disappointment, he grabbed his school bag, pushed the chair back so hard it almost fell and made to leave. But the boy dashed around the table and intercepted him.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry!” He started. But Draco tried to move around him but he put out his hand and pushed Draco hard in the chest so that he stopped. Draco stopped more in surprise than anything else. Was this going to degenerate into fisticuffs?  “I, uh, “Harry stuttered. “Sorry, that was obviously not a good way to answer you…to be...uh.” and this time Harry did seem genuinely apologetic, and Draco’s hackles settled some.

Draco breathed in and out once. He had no idea why he bothered, but tried once more. “It comes easily to me, being that way. The way you see me.” He paused. “But it’s not everything I am. Not all of it.”

Harry said nothing, and Draco decided he had had enough humiliation for one day and left as quickly as he could.

 

**_ Chapter 2 _ **

 

Although Draco berated himself thoroughly, vowing never to ever be so idiotic again, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of regret. Harry was not like him. He was a good person, he smiled and laughed and had authentic friends who didn’t have to be bought or pampered or preened. He was a school golden boy. Teachers were warmly disposed to him, in spite of his truly appalling school work track record and his obvious talent for sports made him a firm favourite throughout the school. Draco couldn’t help but admire him, from a distance. And when he had given back Draco’s handkerchief, and been truly honest with him…Draco had been lured into imagining a friendship between them.

He got to his room and collapsed on his bed, covering his eyes with his elbow.

Draco tried not to admit it to himself, but he was feeling the pressure of his family’s expectation with more and more force as time went on. Other 16 year old boys were enjoying their adolescence, getting into trouble and attending parties. He was being groomed to join his father law firm, and the only parties he attended were ones in which his family had some or there other part to play. He sometimes wondered if he had the strength to face it one more day, but every morning he got up, and put on his show. A pantomime in which all the world was the audience, and the player as the only one that knew it.

But then, one day, a week later, something confusing and thrilling happened. In one of the few classes that Potter’s school house shared with his, Harry caught his eye.

Draco was unable to look away. He kept his composure as the moment lengthened, and finally when Harry looked away, Draco felt as if something enormous had shifted.

It was from then that they began their cautious friendship. Always in the library, in the late hours, they met. At first, Draco behaved coolly, arriving in the library but always busying himself with something of his own. He didn’t want to seem as if he was there for anything in particular. His felt he walked a fine line, and his ever suspicious mind constantly warned him that this could be a trick, Potter could be planning something to humiliate him…but it never occurred. Slowly, wordlessly, Draco began to join him at his table. He felt like a cat, being slowly but inevitably lured by a bowl of milk.

The silence however, clearly bothered Potter.  He tapped his pen, shuffled his legs, whistled softly between his teeth and fidgeted constantly. Draco wondered if he was always like this or if Draco’s presence made him edgy. But when they did make eye contact, Draco saw nothing there but curiosity and a touch of merriment. Eventually Harry stepped up his maddening fidgeting and began to talk to himself. Draco knew this was a ploy to get him to speak, but he still felt far too cautious to participate. He didn’t even want to think about what he was doing, befriending this person. But Harry persisted, saying increasingly ridiculous things to try get him to laugh or smile, and it became a pleasant game. Once when Draco frowned at some jibe Harry had obviously directed at him, he saw only amusement dancing in Harry’s eyes, and his frown turned involuntarily into a grin. He suddenly realised, it was all a show put on solely for him, Draco Malfoy. All those years of contempt, and here was Potter, simply trying to get him to react. It was then that Draco let his guard down, and allowed himself to enjoy it.

The friendship bloomed quickly from there.  Even though it was obvious they shared nothing in common, the ease with which they interacted had an irresistible pull. Draco found himself speaking with much more ease to Potter than anyone he knew, and Harry mirrored the sentiment. Draco, began to share with him his love of poetry and science, and though he half expected him to, Harry didn’t mock him, not even jokingly. One night, when it was late enough to be the next day already, Harry shared with him a glimpse of his childhood. He told it with a flat voice and a casual attitude, but Draco’s mental image changed after that. The wonder boy was not always well loved by all it seemed. And perhaps it now made sense why he always looked so unkempt. He had never been taught to care for himself. Yet it astounded Draco how someone who had so obviously been bereft of the joys of childhood and family, could be the open and gregarious person he interacted with now. Certainly, those things being withheld from Draco had not left him with an open heart or friendly nature.

In return, Draco felt easy enough to reveal to him some of his own family life. His distant but powerful father, his austere home, the money which was plentiful but only given in reward. A reward for living up to expectations. And Harry, even though he didn’t really approve of or understand it, accepted it. And he refused to accept that Draco was merely the product of his upbringing.

Draco treasured these midnight meetings much as time when on. Too much. He saw the danger clearly, but couldn’t find the will to stop it. There was reason Draco had kept him at a distance all this time, and now he had simply thrown himself straight into shark infested waters. All for a friendship, which as sweet as it was, would never be anything more. His heart both expanded and shrunk in his chest. The companionship Harry offered him was sweet and beautiful, yet his heart longed for something more, something that could never be. He resolved to squelch the yearning, refusing to jeopardise what he had with Harry over an infatuation.

Draco saw the symptoms in himself, even if no one else could. He was extremely careful, and years of lessons in self-control and discipline aided him in this. Though outwardly he remained as he ever had; cool, aloof and immaculate, if anyone had ever been allowed into the inner sanctum of his dorm room they might see the signs. Bed unmade, clothes draped over his chair instead of carefully flooded and put away. Small things, but Draco understood them for what they were. He was determined not to let an ounce of is internal war show, and he was successful, as he was in all things he was determined to do.

Except when he was around Harry. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to stop little things from slipping.  He would stare at him, so intensely that he was certain Harry would feel small holes burying into his flesh. He might awkwardly drop a book he was holding when Harry moved too close, or find himself laughing hard at Harry’s embarrassing efforts at raiding the kitchens at night and subsequently getting caught. It was his smile that did it. Harry had an utterly guileless smile, as if he radiated good natured merriment from within. And he also had a dirty grin, which made Draco’s mouth go dry. And then sometimes, Harry would tilt his head to the side and run his hands through his hair, smiling a self-deprecating smile and Draco would clench his fists to prevent from reaching out to touch him. It was then that he knew that what he felt for Harry was more than a simple crush, as he had hoped.

Fortunately, displaying a characteristic Draco found both endearing and annoying, Harry seemed oblivious. He sighed his relief, while at the same time forcibly turning his thoughts away from something as dangerous as… he would not name it. But Draco felt foolish and happy and light in a way he had never felt because of Harry’s friendship, and he could not forsake it no matter how much he knew he should, for his sanity if nothing else.

But there came an evening when everything changed. He walked his usual languid pace to the library, anticipating eagerly another late night conversation. He had a particularly clever story of one of his house mates refusing to budge from  in front of his door until Draco came out settled a petty argument between him and a prefect. Draco had found it amusing, and he thought Harry might too.

He arrived at their usual table and sat down across from Harry without pause. As he waited for his friend to greet him first (a stupid joke between them) he saw a look of intensity of Harry’s face that was alien. Then Harry looked straight at his eyes and Draco felt his heart stall.

Harry looked at him as if he hadn’t seen him before, or rather that he had but was seeing something different this time, something…else. Draco’s heart began to hammer. Harry’s grass green eyes, usually merry, were wide and a mix of fear and wonder. Draco had obviously walked in at a strange moment, but he couldn’t leave, move or even speak. Harry’s eyes held him like a deer in headlights. The moment stretched on and Draco felt stretched with it. His heart drummed in his ears and a sly thought crept up to him.

 _Harry has finally seen me_. The thought was treacherous, but Draco couldn’t stop the surge of hope and terror in his chest. _And what will he do, now that he has_? _Run?_

He started to move his arm out of its pocket, a slow tight movement, as one might approach a frightened animal. “Harry,” he began. But he had been right. Harry stood up so suddenly that his chair thudded onto the carpeted floor. He looked utterly terrified now.

 _He’s going to leave_ , Draco realised. _No, not now…_

Harry shook his head, as if to shake out his thoughts. “I have to go, “he stammered.

As Harry moved to flee, Draco reacted more out of his desperation than common sense. He stood and put a hand out to stop him, and for a wonder he did. Draco noticed his hand was trembling. Some small distant voice in his mind was screaming at him that this was the _worst_ thing, the dumbest, most _idiotic_ thing in the world to do, that he really should let Harry _go_. But there was something there, something Draco had hoped for far too long to let go. He knew he was risking everything, but what was love, if not risk?

“Please, don’t go…” he managed to whisper. Harry looked at him then, and his eyes were _blazing_. Draco froze once more, caught in the gaze. Something indefinable wrapped around them. He was acutely aware of his hand of Harry’s chest, and realised Harry’s heart was beating with the same painful intensity as his own. He barely dared to breathe. Eternity stretched on.

 _At the still point, there the dance is_ , Draco’s mind offered that single line from a T.S. Elliot poem, clear as a bell.

Harry closed the distance between them, and in the pause before he touched Draco’s lips with his own, Draco held a breath. He closed his eyes, and felt Harry’s kiss come hesitant, questioning and tender. Draco was lost. He knew it, had known it for some time, but before now he had not understood just how badly. Internally, he suppressed a sob and returned Harry’s kiss with only the lightest touch, so destroyed was he.

When Harry leaned away, he didn’t look at him. When he finally did, Draco saw only fear and regret there. He turned away before Harry could see his personal ruin, and fled.


	2. 2

**_ Chapter 3 _ **

Draco, though completely falling apart from the cataclysmic experience, couldn’t let it show. It became harder than ever, to play his role to his audience.  He became waspish to the point where even his most loyal toadies avoided him, and he was distracted with his work. He confined himself to his room as much as he could, and it seemed that no one in his house even dared to look him in the eye. They whispered about him when he locked himself away. Let them. 

Yet every night, as some sort of ridiculous form of self-torture, he returned to the library desk where it had happened, and relived the moment his world had shattered. Every night he left again, and his loneliness and bad temper increased.

It seemed that even his professors noticed, because one night he received a call on his phone. When he looked up from his writing to see why it was, he recognised his mother’s number. He stiffened in surprise. His mother never called him. Glad she couldn’t see the terrible state of his clothes, room and general self, he closed his eyes and answered.

“Hello Mother.” he said in an even tone, careful to allow no inflection at all.

“Good evening, Draco.” She answered him in a similar fashion. Malfoys weren’t known for their excessive emotions. Until now. _Fuck._ He swore internally.

“Is there something I can assist you with Mother?” he inquired. His words were formal, but that was how they spoke. Draco saw it in stark contrast to the way he and Harry bantered. Harry was uncouth sometimes, but always relaxed. An aspect absent from his life before, and now most likely, would be continue to be.

There was a pause. “Draco, your Head of House has called me. He says you seem to be…unlike yourself of late.”

Draco sat up slowly. His head of house had called his mother? And she had actually called him as a result? The strangeness of it struck Draco. He and his mother were close, but only in comparison to his father. Draco recalled a time, when he was much younger, when he and his mother had been warmer with each other, when love had flowed freely, but that was before his father had stepped in and demanded Draco put aside his childish habits and start becoming the next man of the family. The change had separated him from his mother, and distance became their new relationship.

Was that why she was calling? She felt concern? Before, Draco had assumed she would never presume to do something that was essentially his father’s place. If Draco had needed discipline or direction before, his father had always been the one to do it. But his mother calling…

“Are you alright, Draco?’ his mother inquired softly when the silence had gone on too long.

Draco suddenly fought the urge to tell his mother everything. It was almost overwhelming. To have someone he could confide in, to lean on as he once had…someone who loved him… but he knew he couldn’t. Even if his mother did love him, she could never accept him if she knew. He cleared his throat.

“Yes mother.” He answered simply, unable to offer an excuse for his behaviour.

Another pause. “Is it a girl?” she suddenly asked.

Draco snorted before he could stop himself and immediately berated himself for such a crude reaction. It was an affectation he picked up from Harry. “No, Mother….no.” he paused, searching for some suitable lie. “I haven’t been sleeping enough lately, and I have been adjusting to the extra work load this term. But thank you for bringing it to my attention. I will go to the school nurse to get something to help me rest and soon I will be back to myself.”

“I can send you some chamomile tea, if you think it would help.” She offered. Draco started, surprise that she even knew his favourite tea.

“Thank you, mother, but I already brought some from home.” He answered.

“Oh. Alright Draco. If you’re sure.” She said. And gain the tone was strange. But Draco was in no state to search into it.

“Goodnight Mother.” He said into the phone.

“Goodnight son.” She replied, and he turned off the phone, laying it back on the table. He groaned and lolled his head back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He simply couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

 

**_ Chapter 4 _ **

Draco hadn’t thought the pitch of his anxiety could escalate any more than it had, but after a week of avoidance, Harry dropped a note on his desk at the end of one of their shared classes. Draco snatched it before it could be seen, and read it underneath his desk with hungry eyes. Harry was asking him to meet.

Even though Draco had been going there every night in the last week, he suddenly felt hesitant. This could mean anything. It could be that Harry wanted to demand from him an explanation, or wanted to threaten him if he ever revealed what had happened, or simply to scream at him. Draco’s mind unwrapped a thousand potential scenarios, and he wondered if he would survive any of them. Such was his angst over the entire encounter, it didn’t even occur to Draco that there could be a good reason for Harry wanting to see him. His instinct had kicked in, and he only knew fight or flight responses. So it took him longer to arrive at the library that night. When he got there, Harry was still missing, and Draco naturally assumed that he had changed his mind, that in fact, Harry never wanted to ever have any kind of interaction again. But through some strange force of will, he sat down anyway, opened a slim volume of poetry he had on him, and pretended to read. His mind whirled through imaginary encounters, and his heart beat an irrational rhythm. If he had not been so anxious, he would have grinned ruefully at his distress. A crush has destroyed him, in a matter of days. So this was how great civilisations fell.

A small sound alerted him to Harry’s presence. He looked up and all his breath whooshed out at once. Harry stood there, looking as nervous as he felt, and unsure, and completely dishevelled. Draco swallowed hard with his suddenly dry mouth, and tried to marshal his thoughts.

Draco spoke first.

“I got your note.” He said quietly putting away his book he been staring at.

Harry sat down opposite him, watching him, but saying nothing.

Draco spoke again. “You needn’t have written it, I’ve been coming here every night. Waiting for you.”

Draco still hadn’t looked him in the eye. He knew he would only be able to speak coherently if he wasn’t looking directly at Harry. Thank goodness being an aristocratic git came so easily.

“Why did you finally decide to come?” he asked quietly.

Harry’s sounded as if he was choking. “I had to see you.”

Silence. Draco, fidgeted with a chip in the table’s wooden surface. His mind kicked into high gear.

“I can’t stop thinking about….I can’t sleep. My dreams…” Harry stuttered into silence. Draco knew he had to say something but he bit his tongue. _I can’t trust you_ , he thought at it. When the silence went on, it seemed Harry had had enough, and got up to go.

“I’m sorry I ruined things.” Harry sounded defeated. Draco couldn’t let him leave, and his hand reacted before his brain, as it had a week ago. He pulled on Harry’s arm, preventing him from going any further. He couldn’t help but look at him properly then.

Draco stared hard into Harry’s eyes. “You didn’t.” he admitted softly.

Harry’s face went through a variety of changes. Surprise, hope, fear, angst, anger, and exasperation. He became increasingly distressed and Draco released his arm so that he could rub his hands through his hair, which made it wilder than ever.

“I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t stop thinking about you, about that night. I don’t want to think about you like this! I’m not…!” 

Draco sucked in a breath. He should have known it came down to this _._ He drew in his disappointment as Harry swore loudly. He forced himself to be nonchalant and lean back against the desk, his hands back in his pockets, for what slim protection if offered.

“So, you regret it?” he asked softly. “Just tell me Harry, be honest with me. I deserve at least that.”

Draco knew that he was openly declaring himself now. But when would he ever have the chance again. At least he could look back and say he had been true to himself, for one pitiful moment. And he knew now, it would be ungenerous to assume Harry would ever use it against him. That was something Draco Malfoy might do, he thought bitterly, but never Harry Potter. It would remain a secret.

 “I’ve been coming here every night, “he said again. “Waiting for you. I didn’t expect what happened, but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped. But hearts are foolish, you know?” he chuckled but it sounded hollow. “I dreamed about it too, you know. But I’ve been dreaming a lot longer than you have, I see.” _About your eyes, about your hands, about your grin waking up next to me in the morning…._ He sighed and let go of Harry’s arm. He was resigned.

“I’m sorry Harry. I haven’t felt this way about anyone but you. But that doesn’t mean you have to return the feelings. I’ll see you around.” he finished off very quietly and turned to go.

But this time Harry grabbed him. “No!” he said. Draco turned, and met Harry’s gaze this time, without fear. After all he didn’t know when he would ever see him again, like this.

“No,” Harry then repeated.  Draco paused, unsure now.

“This whole week, I’ve been fighting, but all I can think about is this.”  This time Harry was not hesitant, but knew exactly where he was going. The kiss was both unexpected and an instant later, Draco suddenly understood the concept of predestination. To say the kiss as perfect was ridiculous, because it was more ethereal. The kiss became a fixed point, like an action around which history itself patterned; Draco felt as if every moment up until now, every stupid blundering step, had been heading up this point, as would every moment following it.

And Draco felt his reservations fall away. No, he pushed them away, he was done with holding back, and months of longing came to his aid as he grabbed Harry’s neck roughly, and returned the kiss, letting it penetrate deep into his bones. He felt Harry push against him, and Draco’s body responded, he found himself pushing his own form against the sportsman’s physique, relishing in how his skin felt alive. Draco found within himself a raw need, a creature of desire and want, and for the first time in his life he wasn’t restraining it. It ran free without care for the destruction it left in its wake. And Draco _loved_ it.

Draco finally forced them to come up for air, and he took in Harry’s rough face, eyes now heavy with desire and mouth opened and wet where Draco had kissed it. But he barely had a moment to take it in before Harry lunged at him once more, and Draco, his enjoyment overtaking his surprise, lost himself in the perfect joy of not only giving in to his most maddening dreams, but being wanted in return.

 “I couldn’t stop thinking of you, and of this.” Harry whispered breathlessly, as he finally pulled away. He leaned against the bookshelf behind him, breathing as if he had been running a race. Draco decided to sit against the desk, before his legs gave out. He almost laughed. The entire time he had been so self-absorbed in his own obsession with Harry, he had completely failed to see that Harry had been watching him in turn.

“I-I have felt….for you, for a long time, Harry. But we were friends, and I knew you wouldn’t feel the same way…”Draco admitted, hardly believing him as saying this out loud, that any of this was happening.

Harry laughed in a crazy way. “Draco, how come you always seem to have a gaggle of girls surrounding you then?”

 His thumb came up and brushed his mouth, remembering where Harry’s lips had been a moment before. He also saw from the corner of his eye, that Harry followed the movement. _Hello?_ “Expectations.” He said simply. Harry knew all about that, expectations. But he refused to dwell on it now.

“Anyway,” Draco retorted, feeling cheeky, “you are one to talk. Aren’t you always off after matches, snogging some girl?”

Harry looked shy then. “Well, I meant it Draco, I’ve never felt this way before. About anyone, boy or girl. I don’t even know what’s going on now.” He trailed off and Draco felt the sun move behind the clouds, darkening the golden moment they were in. He tried one more time, to listen the warning voice in his head.

“If you regret this…” Draco said, and even to his ears, his voice sounded harsh and tight.

Harry stepped forward. “No, Draco.” He put a hand around Draco’s neck, and Draco couldn’t help but lean into the new embrace. “I don’t regret this. How could I regret this? I just need to figure this out.” He whispered. He moved closer to Draco again, and the thin thread of resistance Draco held onto broke once again.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” Harry said, before he kissed him again.

 

**_ Chapter 5 _ **

The following months leading into winter were a slow burn, and he felt it in every sense of the word. In the same way that a fire might torture, damage, warm, ignite and smoulder, the relationship between he and Harry burned under Draco’s skin.

Finally allowed carte blanch on his feelings and wants, Draco fell into it with true abandon as he had done nothing else in his life. The recklessness with which he and Harry pursued each other was nothing short of madness, the kind of insanity he had until this time, only read about. Draco was grateful that he didn’t need to explain the need for them to remain secret, and he showed his gratefulness to Harry in ways he had only allowed in the privacy of his imagination before. He worried at first, that Harry would be embarrassed of his new and unprecedented attraction, and Draco kept his distance, as much as he could. Draco watched Harry for signs of regret or doubt, but if he had them he seemed to shrug them off instantly, throwing himself into Draco’s embraces in ways only encouraged Draco’s wandering thoughts and hands. In fact, it quickly passed the stage of awkward courtship into lustful exploration.  Instead of keeping his passions contained, Draco found himself thinking of new ways to communicate his intentions to Harry. It became a game they both played eagerly. Harry would hide in an abandoned classroom and leap at him as soon as he came through the door, and Draco letting himself be dragged unceremoniously inside. He had his revenge on Harry ripping his blazer button by creeping up behind him one day in class, and running is nails lightly across his lower back through the think shirt fabric. Such a small thing, but Draco heard the soft gasp that escaped him, as he walked quickly away, smirking and knowing that later, Harry would find him and follow through with what Draco had started.

Draco could scarcely believe that Harry, far from becoming a homophobe and wrestling internally with his new sexuality, simply gave in to it as much as Draco did.  They never spoke of it, and Draco found it better for the time being. He lived in a golden bubble and Draco easily put off any nagging worried he harboured. And when Harry pulled his neck and forced his way into Draco’s space, and he could easily forget.

What fascinated Draco the most was the ease with which this was all happening. They slid into a relationship as easily as they had a friendship, without losing the latter.  Harry’s enjoyment was palpable and encouraging, but it was not forced. Nothing was. They had conversation with the same ease as they fell into each other physically. They spent some daylight hours together now too, always hidden away in the many different places there were suddenly available around the school. Sometimes they started with Harry’s homework, which was in a permanent state on incompletion, and afterwards they would be hunting for hastily discarded clothing. (How did my tie get up there?) Sometimes they grabbed brief, heated kisses in hidden doorways. Sometimes, they simply craved each other’s company and conversation, to share a story or a joke or a thought. It was intoxicating, and what made it more perfect was that Harry seemed as insatiable as he.

But reality made a triumphant return one night, when he received another phone call. This time he was sitting at his work desk, staring at his assignment with his mind elsewhere. His pen tapped on the book in front of him, another habit he had picked up from Harry, but he didn’t notice it. He was thinking of that afternoon alone on the clock tower, the look on Harry’s face as he tried to explain the deeper notes in their poetry assignment to him, who couldn’t grasp it at all. As they lay side by side on the clock tower floor.

“This isn’t even a difficult piece, Harry.” He chastised mildly.

Harry scowled. “Just because you live and breathe this stuff, doesn’t mean it’s easy. And just because I don’t get it, doesn’t make me stupid.” Draco raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t often subject to Harry’s ire, but he had clearly touched a nerve. He tried again, knowing that Harry fought a constant battle to keep up with school work. Maybe at a public school he would have felt less pressure, but his place in this school had been a last bequest of parents he had never known, and he thought he understood Harry’s need to live up to the expectation. Or perhaps it was simply that he had been called ‘stupid’ far too often in his life.

“I never said you were stupid. I just meant that this is obviously something you don’t enjoy. When you enjoy something, you excel at it. Look at your mathematics, or your science, or your sport. “He paused and glanced at Harry why was still looking down at his work looking mulish. “Why did you even take extra-curricular English anyway?” he asked.

Harry rubbed his face and pushed his ever messy hair out of his eyes in frustration. “I needed credit to stay on the cricket team, and I want to be captain next year. It was this is or beginner violin.”

Draco hid his grin behind his hand. Harry with a musical instrument in his hands…“Lord save us.” He said with feeling.

Harry couldn’t stop a grin appearing on his face, and it erased any troubled look he had just had. He nudged Draco with his shoulder. “Hysterical.”

Draco pushed at his hair in an effort to tame it, or at least, make is resemble neatness. It was course and thick and resistant as ever to change.

“Do you even own a hair brush?” he asked with a frown.

Harry chuckled. “Do my unruly locks upset your delicate sensibilities?”

Draco paused and looked at him, incredulous. “Was that a ghastly attempt at poetry?”

This time, Harry turned on his side to face Draco, and moved his body closer.

“ _The grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think, do there embrace_...” he recited in a low voice.

Draco smirked slightly. He recognised the poem he explained to Harry last week, and recalled the light dawning in his eyes when Draco explained it was essentially about sex.

“Not bad, Potter. Not original but not bad. “He drawled.

Harry caught the hand Draco had forgotten in is hair and kissed it. Draco followed the movement with cat like closeness. “I wasn’t going for original, I was going for a one liner for my poetry obsessed boyfriend.”

Draco’s heart stuttered a bit at the word ‘boyfriend’. But Harry looked at him, as if for conformation.

In response, Draco leaned close to kiss him, “Like I said, not bad.” He murmured against Harry’s mouth. And the rest of the afternoon dissolved in warmth and kisses.

Startled from his revelry, he glanced at the phone, and immediately all warm feelings vanished. It was his father’s number.

The effect was instantaneous. Fear drenched him like cold water, all good feelings dispelled. He knew there was no way his father could know, but why would he be calling? His father never even spoke to him unless it they were in the same room, and those occasions were limited to formal function is predetermined family dinners on holidays. As far as his father was concerned, as long as Draco did his familial duty in holding up the family name, his work was done. But here he was, calling on his personal phone.

Draco pressed the call receive button with trembling fingers, but miraculously his voice remained steady.

“Good evening Father.”

“I’m sure you are surprised to hear I am calling you, Draco.” His father said, skipping a greeting completely. Draco felt his body go still and numb, a clever trick he had taught himself early on. _Don’t fidget, don’t look away, stand up straight_ , _and don’t let him see you as weak._

“I am Father.” he answered in a sterile voice.

“Draco, though it seems to have happened weeks ago, your mother has only informed me now that recently your behaviour at school has been less than the exemplary standard we all expect from you.” He father replied in clipped tones.

 _That **you** expect from me, father. _ Unbidden a thought a rose to his mind of Harry, laughing with him. _Not everyone has your expectations of me, father._

“My apologies Father. I did tell her that I hadn’t been resting properly…” he started

“There is no excuse for behaviour that isn’t befitting a Malfoy. The fact that your teachers noticed make it that much worse. The fact that they had to place a call to us is nothing short of embarrassing.” His father’s voice was unrelenting now. And Draco hung his head, even though his father couldn’t see him.

“I will hear no more of this.” He farther stated, like it was a fact, and Draco detected the undertone of threat. Message received.

“Understood.” He replied, dutifully.

“Good.” And his father hung up.

Reality returned.

It settled like a fine snow on Draco’s shoulders and tainted everything.  For the first time since he and Harry had begun their affair, Draco was forced to look at the facts directly. And his conclusion got stuck in his throat. He might actually lose Harry.

He might lose everything. The laughter, the kisses, the unbearably tender intimacy they shared, the amazing golden feeling of acceptance and affection he only felt from Harry. But he could lose it all. He could _lose Harry_.

Outwardly, Draco resolved to show nothing, not to let Harry see his fear. He hid, as he was so good at doing, his real feelings. He didn’t want to mar Harry the way his father had marred his happiness. And Harry’s happiness was the only light in his tunnel.

Or at least, he tried. One afternoon, when they were blessedly alone, when the risk of discovery was less as most of the school was empty for a holiday, his façade cracked. He was engaged in a familiar banter with Harry, but there came a point when Harry did something that pushed his anxieties over the edge. Such was there ease with other now that they progressed quickly from banter to kissing and, lately, a certain hot hunger that came from it, that promised more than kissing. He tried to lose himself in the moment, but there was something unbearable in Harry’s touch today. He pushed himself away, much to Harry’s confusion, but with his usual acceptance, he simply assumed that Draco had wished them to stop before things got out of hand. He didn’t stop touching him however. He watched Harry’s face, still clouded with lust, lips still swollen, and his eyes roved over Draco’s naked torso. Draco couldn’t bare it any longer. His anxieties reached a fever point and burst forth in the only way they had ever know; blatant, acid hostility, cloaked in sarcasm.

“Like what you see, Potter?” he said with acid in his tone.

Harry looked shocked out of lust. Finally, thought Draco viciously. “What?” Harry bleated, still confused.

Draco smirked, but shrank inside at how he was acting. “I said, do you like what you see? Or are you still wrestling with the big ‘am I gay or what?’ question?” his voice nasty and spiteful.

“What the hell Draco?” Harry replied, stung. Draco felt so profoundly guilty for causing the look of hurt on Harry’s face that he turned away, ashamed. He had never felt as ugly as he did now, after lashing out at his lover who had not any reason to expect it. He thought about storming back up to the school, but he felt all his strength leave him suddenly. He didn’t want to hurt Harry, what was he doing?

 “Did you mean what you said? Just now?” he drew in a deep breath “Do you find me attractive?” he knew he was baring himself now, as he had that first night in the library, and hadn’t since. But he simply was so tired of facade.

The silence behind him dragged on, and Draco wondered if he had caused irreparable damage now, if he had ruined all they had created in the last months.

“Yes.” Harry replied softly. “Yes, Draco.” Draco felt Harry’s body move behind him, and he pulled Draco close so that his bare back was flush with his chest, while his arms encircled him securely. Harry carried on speaking, and the rumble of Harry’s words reverberating through his body relaxed the tension in his muscles. He felt his monsters slowly sheath their claws and retreat back from whence they came.

“The big question, as you put it, doesn’t matter does it?” Harry spoke carefully, as if he had thought this through before. “All that matters is you and me, in this moment, when we are together or not, whether I’m touching you or kissing you or not.” Draco heard him, and closed eyes as if in prayer. Did Harry have any clue how much these words had meant to him?

But Draco spoke, saying aloud a thing he had never voiced to anyone. He briefly reflected this seemed to be happening more and more. “I’ve known, for a long time. Since I was very young.” He shrugged. “Nothing catalytic happened, I just knew I didn’t like girls the way other men did. But I also knew that there was no way I could ever tell my family. But I’ve known. I could never act on it, there is too much at stake. Can you imagine? My father would kill me, if he ever even looked at me again.” Draco gestured listlessly. He knew he was babbling, just another symptom of the madness. “The point is, I’ve known for a while. There is no big question for me.” He paused and decided, in for an inch, in for a mile.

 “I knew how I felt about you too. Ever since I gave you my handkerchief. And then you gave it back I was so afraid you would use it against me. But you didn’t. And I wanted to become your friend, and again you weren’t…you didn’t….” he stopped, and felt Harry tighten his hold. Draco was on the verge of breaking, as if anything could unravel him more than this boy had in the last few months. “It was so good to have a friend Harry, someone who just wanted me for myself, not my money or influence or how good I looked next to them at charity balls! The last thing I ever wanted to do was to tell you what was going on in my head, what I wanted. Fuck, why this is so difficult!” Draco pulled away so fast Harry almost didn’t have time enough to let him go. He began to pace, his long legs moving over the grass and back again. Harry stayed seated. Draco felt messy and stupid and ever so slightly insane.

“I can’t just go back Harry. Not like you. You can wake up and decide this isn’t what you want, that you can go back to your old life. I can’t! If you change your mind, about me…” he crouched low to the ground, hands in his hair, defeated. “I’ve never done this, with anybody. You may think I know what I’m doing here, but I don’t. I’m no more experienced than you. I’ve never acted on my desires, I’ve never felt this way about another human being. I just, don’t think I can…go back….”

Draco clutched at his now completely messed up hair, feeling mad and trapped. Harry could leave him. He could. That was the real fear, behind all this. It wasn’t what his father might do, what the school might think, what his supposedly friends might say. Harry could change his mind. Draco knew unequivocally then, that he was helpless in his infatuation with Harry. It was more than just sexual preference or a crush, it was Harry fucking Potter and Draco shrivelled inside at his own weakness.

“No.” Harry suddenly said, with a harshness to his voice that was unfamiliar. But Draco didn’t look up. He knew he must be a pathetic sight. Curled up on the grass with his fists in his hair, weeping like a child, but he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Look Draco, I can’t say I know where this is going, or how any of this makes sense. Ugh.” Harry told him, “But I don’t want to leave, or go, if that’s what you’re worried about. This isn’t some fling for me.”

Draco breathe was slowing down now. But he still couldn’t look up, he felt so ashamed at being so weak. But Harry wouldn’t let him hide. He forced Draco’s chin up so that he was looking up at him. Those grass green eyes were open and blazing again, like they had before, as if what he had to say was important and Draco had to _listen_.

“I did mean it. I think you’re beautiful. Or handsome or whatever. And there is no one else on this planet who has ever made me feel like you do, who can make me lose my mind the way you do. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what were called. It’s just you and me. I don’t care about anything else.”

Draco let himself be held then, and continued his silent weep while his lover looked on.

 _He said he wouldn’t leave_. Draco grasped onto the thought like a lifeline, as if it could fix all the wrong things, of which there were so many.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Chapter 6 _ **

Draco’s final undoing came the night Harry snuck him up to his room. Draco tried to act as if Harry was a fool for the inclination, but his anger soon evaporated and excitement took over. It wasn’t _too_ risky, he told himself. He had been making sure his reputation in the school, both social and academic were as flawless as they had ever been, so his father had stayed in his proper place at the end of a phone call and out of direct contact in Draco’s life. And the weekend was all but abandoned over a long weekend. He let himself be intrigued by Harry’s room, which met his expectations. The boy who looked as if he almost always just rolled out of bed, did not keep a tidy room. But here and there Draco saw signs that he had at least tried to clean, and the thought was sweet. While he kept himself immaculate, he didn’t extend the expectation to Harry in the least. He explored the room, finding small signs of Harry everywhere. A poster of a band he liked, a discarded school tie, a textbook, an open of can of Condensed Milk…? Draco put it down.

Harry snuck up behind him and Draco allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of his chest on his back. Harry asked him if he liked the view and Draco turned his gaze to the window. He had been looking for a few moments when something clicked.

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“Is your window directly across from my house dorms?” but he knew the answer.

 “Yeah.”

 Draco looked at him, amusement lighting his dour face. “Don’t suppose you know…?”

Harry stepped next to him to indicate, and Draco was close enough to catch his scent, musky and clean. “Two floors up from mine, three windows to the left. Since you’re a prefect, you’re on the higher floor.” Draco looked where he pointed and saw his room, even though the windows were shut. He gave a small chuckle. “How long have you known?”

Harry rubbed his neck, and turned away to sit on the bed, suddenly shy. “Ah well, a few months ago, I was looking and uh…you were there in the window. I think you were making tea.”

Draco still looked out the window. “You were watching me?” he asked simply.

Harry held his breath then let it go with a whoosh. “Um, yeah. It hadn’t occurred to me before….”

Draco came to sit beside him.

“You were looking for me.” He said.

Harry met his gaze. Green eyes twinkled with merriment and something deeper. “Yeah.”

Harry pulled Draco towards him using his tie as a rope, and Draco obliged. Their kisses had long ago ceased to be experimental, but were now very real, and very intense. He and Harry fell into a heat that always seemed to be lurking just out of sight, but roared loud and hot when they came together.

 _Let the blames lick higher, let me burn_ , he recited in his mind, not sure where the prose came from. He only knew the feeling of Harry’s rough hands on his face and neck, the taste of his sweat and he bit into his collar bone, the rough desperate fumbling of hands as they raced to remove any layers between them.

Draco was inexperienced, but he was not ignorant. As accustomed as he was to keeping his preference secret he had long ago found ways to educate himself, to lend imagery to his imagination. It was not difficult to do, even on the school internet line, on his own private laptop. And Draco was clever enough to hide any evidence under layers of security, to delete any browser history he created. But imagination is poor substitute for reality. In fact, it was no substitute at all. Nothing he had seen had prepared him for the sweet perfection of feeling Harry sweat soaked body slide against his, hearing his breath harsh in his ears. Their bodies responded animalistically, and Draco’s mind was lost as instinct took over. Harry was on top of him, his weighty form causing Draco’s own body to pulse. Then Harry _pushed_ against him that Draco lost his self-control and groaned aloud, which he hardly ever did. He threw his head back into the bed as his hips thrust upwards, and this time it was Harry who cried out. It was with one goal in mind that they both with trembling hands helped each other out of the rest of their clothes. Draco’s eyes closed, as skin touched skin, the tightness between them was both maddening and deeply satisfying. Draco was frightened he would lose control, and the crest on which he stood was as delicate as glass. Then he looked up into Harry’s eyes, and saw that he too was about to fall.

“Draco…”he whispered. His voice trembled with the effort of keeping his control. “Are you sure…?”

Draco could say nothing, he simply leaned forward and caught the face of his lover in his hand, letting his long fingers slide slowly from his face to his neck. Harry fell forward them, kissing him with passion and force and Draco felt him clutch and cry out. It was too much for Draco, who held tightly to Harry’s broad shoulders as he too finally fell. Stars burst into the blackness behind his eyes as his body reached breaking point, and he rejoiced in the flames.

In the aftermath, which may have been minutes or a lifetime, the two lovers lay wrapped in each other’s arms. Draco fought the urge to cry. He understood far more clearly now, the poets he read so assiduously. How love could be release and a cage, how love was destruction and carnage, and the opiate of every human.

He had to say it, if only once, even if he never heard it. Just once.

He glanced at his lover beneath hooded eyes, and sure that Harry was asleep, whispered so softly that he barely used breath.

“I love you, Harry Potter….”

Harry’s eyes opened. He pulled away from Draco so that he could see him better. Draco’s sleepy eyes met his and his hair was a mess and he looked sexy and happy.

 “Me too.” He said.

“Harry, I’ve never- uh…“the usually eloquent Draco stuttered in his embarrassment at being caught. Harry stopped him with a kiss.

“It’s ok, “he said quietly. “Draco, me too.” He said again, as he took Draco’s hand and placed it over the part of his chest under which his heart rested. Draco simply looked at him, frightened of the way he felt and the way Harry so easily let himself feel. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. Draco held as still as he could, afraid if he moved it would all shatter. Or simply that he would shatter inwardly, and all the pieces of himself would spiral down into a black hole. But as no one else could, Harry’s touch brought him back. He could only pull closer to his lover’s body, as if Harry could somehow keep him safe from the demons that danced at the edge of his mind.

 _I could lose it all_. His whispered thought echoed disconsolately.

 

**_ Chapter 7 _ **

And as he predicted, so it came to be.

He knew, inimically, that it had been too good, too perfect.

Though he and Harry used every moment of their privacy together that weekend to its full advantage, soaking up every happiness, every chuckle, every touch, time passed and the weekend became a Monday. And with it came the taking up of their established pretence of barely composed civility towards one another. Though he knew Harry didn’t begrudge him at all for the necessity of their charade, Draco felt its burden ever heavier that Monday. He still felt the last lingering kiss on his lips as he dragged his clothes onto his body in his own room, noticing with a trace of bitterness their crisp clean form. He knew that he got special treatment, because of his name. Unlike the other students who stayed in the boarding rooms, his clothes were always washed, cleaned, pressed and hung up in his cupboard nightly. He was allowed his own kettle and tea set. Even his fellow prefects weren’t treated as such. He used to think he was spoiled, but now he saw it for what it was; he had no choice in the matter. His clothes were neat and expensive, not out of love for him, but as an investment in his reputation.

He recalled with an odd fondness Harry’s living space. Draco enjoyed his luxuries, and he admitted to it. He enjoyed looking well-kept and dressing in quality clothing, having expensive sheets on his bed and exotic foods available to him. Having the very best money could buy was no hardship. But he finally had a glimpse of what life was like on the other side. He had always assumed that people with less money suffered for their lack, but Harry did not fit that description. He truly didn’t care what he wore, as long as it fit. Harry had inherited money, and though Draco didn’t know exactly how much he knew it was a fair sum, but he felt no desire to use it unnecessarily. His obvious contentment with less made Draco wonder what it might be like to get dressed in the morning without thinking about what matched, or knowing its price?

He brushed the thoughts aside, they served no purpose. His lot hadn’t changed.

But the last shreds of happy warmth from the weekend evaporated as the day wore on.

His “friends” had returned from their weekend and sought him out as usual. And just as predictably, he barely tolerated their company. But as they were all looking to stay on his good side, they put up with his vague disdain. It made him sick in all truth. More so in recent times. The fact that all that kept his “ friends” close to him, what that made them into little more than whipped dogs who begged for the smallest scraps of attention, was his name was  sickeningly pathetic. They were all from the same caste as he; family’s with money, with influence, with power. Children who were spoiled and wealthy, who looked to him as their leader simply because his father with the biggest dog in the kennel. The fact that they took the cues for their behaviour at school from him, made him bitter and lately, ashamed. They took his attitude as license to treat others with contempt, to bully, to intimidate, to humiliate. Some of them even engaged in behaviour Draco had never himself done, like physically hurting other students, for the easy reason that Draco, by his silence, condoned it.

It hadn’t really mattered before. Or rather, it had mattered, but Draco hadn’t cared. Very little tapped his shell of indifference to anything not pertaining to himself or the familial duties he had to perform. He played his part, but existed in self-imposed isolation. His followers thought his tolerance of them was the same as friendship. Or at least some of them. He knew that many only hung close because of his name. Which only increased his isolation. But before Harry….it had been his life. It hadn’t mattered. His thick layer of surrounding apathy had prevented that. But Harry forced him to see the façade of his life, and forced him to see that his apathy was not something to be held in pride. Though Harry never berated him, admonished him, or even spoke about the fact Draco that intimidated the students with his callous cruelty, the simple fact of being around Harry diminished his resolve.

Harry had shared some of his life outside the school with him. Far more than Draco had ever shared. He knew that Harry’s home life was unpleasant to say the least, and the people charged with raising him when he had been orphaned as in infant, were cruel. They refused Harry’s the basic needs in life; clothes that fit, food enough to quell hunger, and simple affection. Instead, they treated him with indifference and irritation. He was simply an aberration on their lives, which would have been perfect had Harry not been forced on them. He had grown up bullied and unloved.

Yet he was, in Draco’s estimation, goodness personified. He made friends easily if not deeply and had time for anyone. Draco suspected he forgave quickly simply because it was too much effort to keep up a grudge, but he as nonetheless open and guileless and utterly opposite to Draco. And it put his own life into a much sharper perspective than it had been before.

It seemed to Draco more and more, that his life was now divided into two parts; before Harry, and after Harry. Before Harry; elevated, Spartan and cold existence. After Harry…Draco’s mind filled with light and his heart filled with unbridled affection. He was irrevocably split. He lived in duality because he could no longer do otherwise, but he was silently grateful to whatever forces had brought them together, and to Harry for allowing him to become more.

But he could not dwell. He schooled his features and led his house mates to their next class. Later he wondered how such a dark day had not been preceded by some sort of sign.

He had been sitting on a bench outside the school, mind wandering. His was bored, as he always was in their company. He was barely paying attention. But Pansy Parkinson (what a ridiculous name) had been invited to share the bench with him and had practically fallen over herself to do so. Draco sneered internally as she pushed herself closer to his side. He looked at her, his expression neutral but calculating. He knew she was enamoured with him, she made no secret of it, often slipping him simpering notes beneath his door. He had allowed himself to throw her small scraps of attention every so often, but no more so than any of his other admirers. He played the part of choosy, elitist and handsome very well; he had it down to an art. He never committed, he was never the pursuer, and he barely paid attention to whichever girl crossed his path. He had had a few rather desperate girls after him, some more so than others. It left him cold, and so he never cared who he hurt in the process. He had to keep up the appearance of carelessly reeling girls in, and discarding as easily. While his father had never actively made any mention of his romantic life, and he was determined to keep it that way by giving him no cause to.

He leaned his arm along the back of the bench behind her, and leaned down to Matilde’s face, who was staring at him with a look of wild expectation, and let himself kiss her lightly. He had wanted to end it there, enough to tease but not enough that he had to breathe, but the stupid girl took far too much license and grabbed his neck tie in a way she probably thought was sexy, keeping his face on hers. The fact the Draco had frozen in place did not deter her, and Draco fought the urge to gag and shove her away, knowing it would look bad. From the sounds of crass cheering and cat calling coming from his friends, he imagined they saw the kiss as far more than it was, and so at least he knew he was playing to script. He let it go on for a moment longer then jerked away. When she looked at him, the look of blissful triumph on her face quickly faded away into cowering when she saw the look of fury on his face. She quickly let go of his tie and looked down. Good, let her see she had taken a liberty she was far from entitled to.

But the cheering had turned to jeering and Draco looked away from her pitiful face, leaning away as he did so, making it clear he found her repellent. She shuffled away slightly and Draco felt disgusted by the whole thing. Then he saw who they were directing their taunts at.

Draco froze.

Harry stood there, still as a statue. _He had seen them._

The boys continued their taunting but Harry said nothing, he stood stock still and stared at Draco. The hurt was clear in his eyes, the shock of seeing him kissing Pansy had done what Draco had been fearing for ages. He felt the world starting to crack.

But they were all looking at him now. They were wondering why he wasn’t joining in. Surely this was gold? This was a perfect opportunity to rip into Potter, the idiot who couldn’t stop staring at Malfoy.

He wished it had been difficult, to come up with scathing words that hurt and humiliated. But it wasn’t at all. Later, he could barely even recall what he said, only that they had finally galvanised Harry into walking away, a burning blush still on his cheeks.

The cracks in the world grew and chinked as they progressed.

 

**_ Chapter 9 _ **

Harry avoided him. He knew exactly all the limited ways in which Draco would try to gain his attention and thwarted him at every turn. Draco was trapped. He couldn’t do anything more obvious, and Harry knew it. And the look of complete dejection on Harry’s face pulled at his heart. He wished he could run screaming after him through the halls and grab him and force him to listen…to what? What would Draco say? He didn’t know, but he knew he had to try and erase that look, try and fix things before the cracks grew too long…

Finally he resorted to a juvenile tactic, which had the good fortune of being perceived as a cruel prank by his peers, and earned him a look of loathing from Harry himself. It hurt but it was the first time Harry had deigned to notice him in a week. He would have been embarrassed by how much he craved it, except that he did and he would take whatever he could get.

Later he rushed to the detention room where they had first met, eager for the private confrontation he could finally have. He would explain himself, he would apologise, but on the edge of his hearing, the cracks chinked and chased after him. He shook his head to clear it and pushed passed the doorway, and found Harry smashing papers into boxes, uncaring about the condition he left them in.

The sight of him made Draco’s breath rush out of his body. Harry’s broad shoulders were hunched and the ever untidy hair even worse off than usual, and his hands twitched with the instinct to touch the strong muscles there. But he could see that it would not be welcomed, and the thought halted him. When Harry turned a look as cold as the one Draco wore every day, he fell his heart lurch painfully. Harry had never looked at him that way, not even when they had been enemies.

The cracks in the world were obvious now, separating reality into little jagged edged pieces, fracturing light and air.

“Harry, please.” He managed. Suddenly all the words he planned to say, every constructed phrase vanished. His throat felt tight.

Harry stopped. But he didn’t turn around to look at him again, but spoke instead.

“I was an idiot you know? I thought…. I don’t even know what I thought.” He said, bitterness in his very stance. “I’m such a fool.” He sounded forlorn then. Draco felt stuck, he couldn’t move to touch or comfort Harry.

 “Harry, please. Don’t say such things…” he tried, but knew it was pointless.

“Why not? It’s all true.” Harry said sharply. “We were never going to go anywhere. We were never going to hold hands, go on holidays, and meet the family…” Harry laughed and the sound was harsh. “I didn’t even know I wanted those things. But it turns out I did, I wanted it all, I wanted you, I wanted us… “He whispered. Every word dug into Draco like a barb. He simply wanted everything Draco could never give him, everything impossibe. Did he know how much his words made him despair? 

“Harry, look at me.” Draco begged, but Harry shook his head.

 _I’m losing him. It’s happening right now_.

 “You know it’s true.” He said simply. And Draco nodded, he did know, had always known. But he had wanted to hold on as if it wasn’t.

Harry finally looked at him then, and he saw there mirrored his own heartbreak. It was so similar to the tender moment when they had both admitted to loving each other, that Draco couldn’t stop tears from falling out of his eyes. Harry visibly drew strength to himself, and leaned close to Draco to kiss him brokenly.

“See you, Draco.” He said, and left.

The cracks finished their work, and the world shattered.

 

**_ Chapter 10 _ **

Christmas holidays came, and Draco went home without considering it much. He would have been expected to come home anyway, as it was one of those things families did, no matter how much of a farce it seemed. The image of a happy jolly, warmth filled family holiday would not be the case at Malfoy Manor. But he packed his bags anyway, feeling like an automaton, and got into the private car sent to collect him without a backwards glance.

He arrived at the manor, and no one was home, which did not surprise him. He allowed Bertrum, his butler, to claim his bags and take them upstairs, but retreated into his private rooms as soon as he could, seeking the need for privacy. It wasn’t hard. His mother was likely at a social function or meeting and his father would be working until the late hours of the night. He was an only child. He didn’t even have a pet, beyond the horse in the stables outside. He sat down at his desk, a brobigandian affair his father had bought him for his birthday. It was an old fashioned lawyer’s desk and took up a huge amount of space even in his large bedroom. It had 8 drawers on both sides of it and was made of a dark polished wood. It looked professional and serious. He imagined his father had gotten it for him not out of affection, but rather out of a decision to invest in Draco’s future, which in his mind included desks such as this one. And of course, a Malfoy would only have the best.

Draco’s depression, far from being forgotten, had simply been contained inside him. He felt hollow, and in the hollow space resided a black void in which everything disappeared.  He went on as he usually did, he was an actor after all. It seemed that no one was the wiser, they continued to gaze upon the perfect face of the Malfoy heir, no idea that they were looking at a shell. He brutally hid his emotions, even from himself. He sliced away any brokenness he felt, any pain, any heartbreak ruthlessly, throwing all his energy instead into carrying on as he had been before, and refused to think about _before_. If he did, then everyone would know there was nothing left of him.

He stared out of his window, wide expanses of the snow covered lawns, the artfully designed gardens, frozen ponds from which the fish had hopefully been rescued, his face seemingly in repose.

Bertrum came in silently, and placed a coffee next to him on his desk. Without looking up, Draco muttered a thank you. Bertrum bowed his head slightly and moved away. Just as he reached the door Draco spoke.

“Bertrum, what is your first name?” he asked.

If he had been looking, he might have seen a slight surprise mar Bertrum usually placid face. Then he cleared his throat.

“Eustace, sir.” He replied quietly.

Draco did look at him then. Bertrum had been hired to attend him when he had turned 9 years old. In all this time he had never even cared if he had a first name. Now he looked at the man, not the butler, and saw there that there could be another person in his life as forced to play a part as he. The man probably had a life, a family, a story... he blinked.

“I apologise that in the 8 years you have been charged with looking after me, I have never thought to ask you that.” He told him.

Eustace Bertrum clearly as at a loss for words. But there was a kindness in his eyes too. He bowed his head again. “The pleasure is nonetheless mine, sir.”

“May I call you Eustace?” Draco asked, not even sure why he was saying these things.

Again a small nod, “You may, sir.”

“Then, thank you, Eustace. That will be all.”

Draco turned back to the window scene. As soon as he knew the door was closed, he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to keep the tears from spilling.

Regardless that it was over, and no matter how Draco might try, Harry Potter had left a stamp on him.

 

It was Christmas Eve and for once, he, his mother and his father were all sitting at the same table at the same time. The dining room at the very least was decorated in the festive themes of the season, and a splendid tree stood near the fireplace. It had several ornaments on it that were heirlooms of a sort, which his mother insisted on being put up every year, including a terrible playdough skateboard Draco had made when he was six. It looked incongruous next to the other expensive glass baubles but his mother had kept it, seeming to think that it deserved to be there. The table was laid with food for far more people than were present, as if they were expecting guests. Draco reflected for the first time how ridiculous it was to cater for a dozen people when they rarely had any family join them for Christmas. It was such a waste, a tasteless display of wealth for an invisible audience.

They sat in silence. They hadn’t even shared a toast to the season. But Draco was immune. He stared at his plate of food and ate mechanically, not tasting much, not seeing a reason to enjoy himself. Although the opportunity didn’t present itself much. But his mother broke the silence.

“I hear you are doing well in your studies Draco.” His mother said warmly, glancing at him, a glimmer of pride in her eye.

Draco nodded, but didn’t answer.

His father cleared his throat then.

“You are not mute, Draco. Answer your mother properly.” He drawled, as if it didn’t really concern him. But Draco heard the low warning.

He finished chewing and put his fork down.

“Yes, Mother. I have taken on the extracurricular studies you and Father recommended, they are quite challenging but not overly so.” He replied, stoically. His father nodded, but didn’t look at him as he drank his wine.

His mother looked somewhat unsettled at the encounter, but brushed it away, as she always did.

“I am glad then. I hope that they do not put too much strain on you, with the extra work load.” She contrived to say in an idle way, as if to break the tension that had passed between him and his father.

“Not at all Mother.” He replied and looked once again at his plate. He dimly saw some connection between the way his father treated him and the way he treated his peers at school. Yes, he had been taught very well.

“As long as we don’t have to be contacted again, regarding your behaviour.” His father stated, cutting into a slice of turkey. Draco stilled, his knife and fork halting.

His mother’s laughed lightly. “Of course not Lucius. Draco was merely tired. Everyone is has bad days...” she started.

His father cut her off. “A Malfoy does not have ‘bad days’. Or the luxury of them, Narcissa. Least of all Draco. Being found wanting in any area is simply not acceptable.” He waved off her statement as if her opinion had no value, which it rarely did, and certainly hadn’t done in eight years since he had taken over the shaping of Draco’s life.

Draco’s head was full of noise. Out of the void inside, came a sudden rush of anger.

“Do you find me wanting, Father?” he asked in a low tone.

Reginald looked at Draco, and dismissed him quickly, reaching for his wine instead.

“Draco, I merely point out, that a young man who is gifted in both intellect and every trapping he might need, has no reason not to rise to the very top of any environment he finds himself in, whether it is social, academic or political.” He added the last to make clear to Draco where he expected his life to turn towards.

“But do you find me wanting, Father.” He repeated, was still looking at his plate.

Lucius looked at his son now with cold scrutiny, as if properly considering his answer before giving it.

“No, I suppose not.” He finally said and dismissed the conversation.

Draco felt the anger coalesce and form into words. He put his cutlery down carefully.

“You suppose?” he said. He looked at neither of his parents, only at the stunning table display before them. “Have I not done everything you have ever asked, Father? Have I not been an _exemplary_ son?”

“Draco,” his mother said softly.

“I have done everything you have wanted. I been the perfect picture of the Malfoy bloodline. I have striven in every way, in every avenue of my life, not to disappoint you. “He continued.

His father was looking at him now, his face surprised and irritated. “Draco what do you think-“he began but Draco cut him off too.

“I long ago gave up trying to earn your pride in me, but I have hoped that at the very least you might look at me and see an heir worthy of the name Malfoy. Your expectations of me have always been very clear.” His voice shook only slightly, but wasn’t raised. “I thought that I might at least earn a modicum of _respect_. “He spat the last word, and some of his bitterness surfaced, ugly and potent. He tried in vain to squelch it.

“So I ask again father, do you find me wanting?” the words were hard and harsh and angry, and he finally looked at his father, who started at him as if he didn’t recognise or like what he saw there. His mother was however sitting wide eyed, her hand stilled in the act of raising a glass to her lips.

“Draco, I don’t know or care where this sudden attitude has arrived from but I advise you to drop it quickly.” His father said warningly.

Draco slammed the table with the palm of his hand, and both his parents jumped. His father stared at his hand than back at him. “You have yet to answer my question!” Draco all but shouted.

Lucius’s eyes narrowed and he stood to face Draco. Draco was standing too, he suddenly realised, and where his father once towered over him he now saw him at eye level. He met his father’s sour gaze without fear, and this was unusual too, and Reginald saw it.

“Very well then, _son.“_ He _sneered_ the word _._ “If you insist on behaving like a child throwing a tantrum…”

“Do not presume to think you have the right to call me child or adult, for you have never treated me as either!” Draco shouted at him.

This at last seemed to silence Lucius, whose sneer had vanished and was replaced by something like shock at his words. His glanced at his mother whose face looked much the same, but with something else unidentifiable. The silence lengthened and Draco slammed the table once more before he rushed out of the room.


	4. 4

**_ Chapter 11 _ **

 

Draco expected repercussions from that night, but none came. The house remained in its usual cold quiet, the snow surrounding him on all sides and only lending itself to the silence. But he could not remain as he had been before, unaffected and stoic. The outburst seemed to have cracked the shell of indifference around his heart and his emotions poured forth unchecked. Once again Harry dominated his thoughts, and he felt renewed profound shame at the hurt he had caused his lover. He had told the boy that he loved him, and the very next moment…and when the time had come for him to mend, to grovel or beg, he had let him slide away because it had been easier, because he had told himself it was the only way. He felt disgusted with himself and tormented himself daily with the look of heartbreak on Harry’s face and his role in it. He had been such a coward.

In the night times he dreamt of Harry. But not the broken, crushed version he had left behind him, but the glowing happy Harry he adored. Harry reciting bad poetry to make Draco  groan, burying his face in Draco’s neck  for a kiss, Harry stretching his arms up and over to lock themselves behind his head, his sorry-not-sorry look when Draco complained about his terrible handwriting….and Draco would wake aching and eyes red.

Eventually Eustace Bertrum declared him ill, and Draco let his treat him as such, for it took too much strength to argue. It suited him to retreat to his bed and not get up. For the first time in his teenage life, he didn’t get up to change his clothes every morning. He was left alone and allowed his ‘illnesses. Whether Eustace Bertrum suspected something more behind his apparent illness, he did not say, and defended his listlessness as the symptoms of having a cold. Since Draco refused a doctor, and his parents seemed content with letting his butler attend him as he had always done, it caused very little fuss in the household.

Draco did receive a visit from his mother one day, which was surprising in itself.  She sat at a chair beside his bed and attempted with awkward grace to speak to him, not of the Christmas dinner, but of trivial things. Far too preoccupied with his misery, Draco didn’t respond and she soon left. From his father, the only form of communication he received was his Christmas gift, which were the keys to a new Lexus. Draco hadn’t bothered to go down and see it, the keys lay forgotten in their box beside his bed.

For the first time in his life, Draco gave himself over to his emotions. He drowned daily in them. He thought countless disparaging thoughts of himself, ignored outward contact, felt his rage and shame and longing and regret and every other thing in Technicolor. It was several days before he could think coherently. It was heady, to feel. After living so long in such an apathetic way, it was alien and he couldn’t or wouldn’t control it. He recalled a vague time when he might have held love for his parents, along with some other common emotions, but his upbringing had demanded he learn to put aside everything non-essential. To sharpen his mind and intellect, not tend his heart. And now he was a total mess.

It was Eustace, who gave a rudder to his directionless misery.

He heard him enter his room on the third day of his convalescence. He said nothing as usual, only brought him his lunch on a tray, hot steaming soup. It reminded Draco of how much Harry hated soup, and he curled even tighter into himself, his nails cutting into the palms of his hands. The bed had not been made in days. But instead of Eustace walking out again, he felt the butler’s weight sit carefully on the edge of the bed. Draco acknowledged the unusual gesture but said nothing. Things were clearly completely fucked up if his butler was sitting on his bed.

“Ahem.” He heard him say. “Master Draco.”

Draco turned slowly then, pulling himself up onto his elbows, to look at the man. He saw, with his new strange eyes, the man who had cared for him, pressed his clothes, ordered his school supplies, driven him places, carried his bags since he was nine years old. The man was not small, as he saw him in his mind’s eye. He was actually of height with Draco, with hair that was beginning to grey at the temples. He was likely barely older than his own father. “Yes, Eustace?” Draco answered, using his name for the first time since he had asked it.

He thought he saw a small grin as he said it, then it was gone. The man folded his hands in his lap and looked, not at Draco but at his bed side table.

“Master Draco, I believe I have enough experience to know that what ails you is not merely a cold.” He said softly. When Draco said nothing, he spoke on. “I do not wish to pry, or assume anything, but I wished to tell you that whatever you need, I am available to you. Whether it requires me continuing to lie to your mother, or if you only need a sympathetic ear.”

Draco was stunned. Before, Bertrum would never had dared to say such a thing. He was a cardboard cut-out of a man. But he seemed to have sensed a change in Draco, when he asked for his name. And now Draco had no clue how to react. He didn’t thank him, but neither did he admonish him. Eustace looked at him then, and Draco saw a fondness there that was as alien as anything else had been lately.

“I have no children of my own. And though our interactions are as what is proper for an employer and employee, you should know that I do care about you and your wellbeing.”

With that said, he stood, and again he was only the butler. He nodded to Draco and walked out, before Draco could even formulate an answer. He was partly amazed, partly stunned. He had not even thought that any of the staff, whose faces he knew and had grown up with, would have any kind of feeling towards him other than him being their employers son. And why should they? He had never shown them any acknowledgment or kindness. But somehow, in spite of that, he had somehow managed to create a friend in a man who cared for him almost half his life. An undeserved one at that.

Perhaps that is what galvanised his next action. Draco folded himself out of bed, and managed drink the bitter tea Eustace had left for him, if not the soup. He sat down at his desk and opened his personal laptop for the first time since he arrived home. He breathed in, tried to marshal his thoughts to resemble something close to sane and wrote a letter.

It was pitifully short. It fell far short of all the things he wanted to say, all the things he could say, but when it came down to it, it said everything that could be said without it being the length of a book. Draco smiled humourlessly. It was comical how he had always prided himself on his word smithing, and now he could barely write a paragraph of the most authentic words he had ever put down. It asked for forgiveness, it asked for a second chance, and as Draco hit send in his email program, it carried Draco’s honest hopes with him.

 _Fools in love_. He thought ruefully.

He thought for a moment more, and printed out the letter he had written, intending to send it to Harry’s actual address at the school. He felt it necessary, as he couldn’t guarantee Harry even read his mail, but if he used actual post he would have the satisfaction of knowing the letter had reached its destination, even if Harry decided not to reply. He returned to his bed then, inexplicably exhausted, and fell into restless sleep once more.

He awoke to find his mother sitting once again at his bedside. He blinked his blurry vision into focus. She sat calmly beside him, and looked out of the window. She must have opened the curtains he had been keeping shut, for the room wasn’t as gloomy as he preferred it lately. He observed her profile quietly. He did not have many chances to really see his mother when not in public.  Even though she was in her home, she was always perfectly manicured and made up, and still lovely. Her elegant face was in repose, and held a thoughtful look. The pale blond hair that fell straight down her back was perfect, not a hair out of place. He had his father’s build and face, but his mother’s hair and eyes. She sighed, still unaware that Draco had awoken.

He decided to reveal himself. He knew he looked…well terrible. He had not bathed in days, let alone changed his clothes. He hadn’t the heart to look in a mirror and see what sleep deprivation and tears had done to his pale complexion. But she had come here of her own volition, let her see him as he was if she insisted on being here.

She turned at the sound of his movement. He met her eyes, “Good morning, Mother.”

“Actually, its evening. Or close to.” She replied in an even tone. He saw her eyes take in his appearance and calmly look at him again. “You certainly _look_ unwell.” She remarked with a raised eyebrow, as if he might have been faking it. Which he had. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry Mother…” he started, fishing for an excuse, but her hand came out and rested upon his. The touch was startling. He couldn’t recall the last time his mother had touched him beyond a small peck on the cheek as he left or returned from school terms.

“No, I think I am the one who should apologise.” She said quietly. Then Draco saw what she was holding.

The letter. He had left it in the printer. He hadn’t bothered to hide it. And now…

His eyes flew to hers, his heart suddenly in his throat. He must have turned even paler for his mother’s expression changed to one of worry. “Draco, calm d-“

“Mother please, I can explain it-“he started. Not only would his life come crashing down around his ears, but it could reach Harry. His father would be furious, beyond reasonability. If he decided to attack Harry- Draco’s hands began to shake as he tried to snatch the letter away from her, but she held it away from him. “Please, mom, please-“he begged, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. How could he be so _carelessly stupid_!

“Draco, please calm yourself!”

“I can explain. It’s a game, a joke-“Draco stammered as he got increasingly agitated.

“Draco hush. Darling, hush, it’s alright.” She kept saying. Her hands were stroking his hair away from his face. Draco barely registered the touch, he was shaking so, overwhelmed with fear. But eventually her words broke through.

“Draco, darling, it is alright. I read it and _it’s alright_.” She emphasised, the words by putting her hands over his, stilling them. He looked to her then, though unsure if he would find censure or harbour in her face.

She sighed, and her eyes seemed to be wet. “Draco, I should be the one to apologise.” She repeated the earlier words. “That you should have kept such a secret, that you felt you had to… And now I see the terror you have of being found out, by someone you should be able to trust implicitly. Draco, my son, I have failed you as a mother if this is what you have come to.” Her words were soft and eloquent, but authenticity rang in her voice. He pulled his hands away from her, and pushed at his face instead. He was ashamed to be found out, but also, he admitted, relieved. If he had to be crucified, at least he wouldn’t be lying any longer. He felt his mother stroke at his hair again.

“I let your father take you away from me. He saw how happy you were, and saw childishness. He can only understand fatherhood in terms of how much of a success you could be, and by extension his own success as a father and a man.“ She sighed at the words. “I see that it was wrong. I’ve seen it before, but I was-“she paused and looked away. “Afraid.” She admitted.

Draco knew what she meant. Lucius, while never stooping to be as common as to physically abuse either his wife or son, had other ways of being cruel. He realised dimly that both he and his mother lived in a shadow of fear, a fear that kept them obedient and well-behaved. But he had more pressing concerns.

“Mother, about the letter…” he began, but unsure of how to continue. He was still trying to understand what was happening. She waved him into silence anyway and gestured with the letter.

“Is this ‘Harry’…do you mean the things you have written here?” she asked him.

Now it came to it. Draco could lie. He could, even if she didn’t believe him, he could lie and maintain the picture of the perfect son. But the holidays had worn him thin, his hurt was evident on his face and he was _tired_. Perhaps it was the taste of authenticity that left him wanting more, but he found he couldn’t lie again.

“Yes, Mother, I do.” He answered simply, shrugging and throwing caution to the winds but watching her closely.

She pursed her lips and nodded slightly. Then she sighed hugely and looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Draco, I’m so sorry. I wish you could have told me. I understand why you didn’t but I wish you could have. I’m sorry you’ve had to lie.” She said in a great rush.

The damn inside Draco, the one barely holding himself in check, broke.  The words came out of him slowly at first, then in a rush. And his mother responded with soft questions and tender touch and a lot of welcoming silences. He told her about Harry, which led back to his sexual orientation, which led back to why he had kept it secret in the first place. And then came back around to Harry. Shining, wonderful Harry and how things had collapsed as he knew they would do because it was impossible, they were impossible. At this point Draco couldn’t stop his body shaking with silent sobs. Narcissa had moved from the chair bedside his bed to beside her son, holding him carefully. She let him cry and said nothing.

Draco thought he had cried himself empty, but when he finally came to end of his tears, the sadness was still there, the longing and the hurt. But now he had relief to temper it with. His mother, one of the last people he had ever thought with whom he could share his true self, was there, and had not rejected him. There was release in that. He just wished he could enjoy it more. His mother looked at the letter again with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Your father can not find out.” She muttered.

Draco almost snorted, but smirked instead. “Yes, obviously. He might smack me on the wrist.”

Narcissi grinned briefly at the joke and Draco returned it. He marvelled. Here he was, joking with his mother about his secret gay lover. Pigs would fly next.

“I know you understand the implications of this, Draco.” She went on.

Draco’s shoulders bowed once more as the weight settled. “It’s alright mother. It’s over. There is nothing more to hide, and I will truly never make such a mistake again. The Malfoy name and reputation is safe.”

Narcissa clasped his hand then and squeezed tightly enough to make his bones grind together.

“Listen to me Draco. Firstly, life is long and it’s foolish to say one will never make the same mistake twice. Once done, it’s easily done again. Especially concerning the realm of romance.” Her eyes held the same intensity that he recognised from her many speeches regarding issues of importance, at the many functions they hosted. “Secondly; happiness, while fleeting, is a gift. It should be held onto. If the things you wrote here and the things you have told me are true, if you love this boy, you cannot let him walk away. Not for a name. Not for something as flimsy as an image to uphold.”

He gaped at his mother. “But that is exactly why I should walk away, because an image can so easily be ruined and tainted. Especially by something like this.” He debated with her, even though his heart dared to hope.

Narcissa shook her head carefully, still holding his gaze. “No Draco. There are more important things in life. This is one of them. Is he important to you? Do you love him?”

Draco swallowed the tightness in his throat. “Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“Then you must go and see what fruits your letter has borne.” She said with finality, as if it closed the matter.

Draco shook his head. “What if he-what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” He barely choked out. He had told his mother that Harry was not gay, and though he had said that it did not matter, he could still go back to his life before, leave this affair behind him.

Narcissa made a clicking sound with her tongue, disapproving. “Don’t be ridiculous Draco. You are a Malfoy. He could barely resist you before. You turned an enemy into a lover, on your charm alone.” Her brown eyes twinkled at the joke and Draco smiled weakly. “Darling, he loves you. I know you will find a way. Malfoys always get what they want in the end.”

“But Father-“he tried once more, he was sure she didn’t see just how terrible this could be, how terrible he could be.

“Let me deal with your father.” She answered him in a way that suggested this had already taken place in another matter, and Draco understood why he had not suffered anything after Christmas dinner... his mother uncharacteristically, must have defended him to his father.

 “I have let him have sole control over your life far too long. I see it now, as I did not before. I truly thought I was doing the right thing, but I think I see now it was mostly fear and not concern for your true wellbeing that helped me make that mistake.” She face up to her words with strength. She had made a mistake, and did not shy away from taking the blame. “You have two parents in this house Draco. And the time has come for me to step back into your life.”

Draco tried to hide his grin. He had hope now, and it was precious. And he had his mother too, it somehow made the ache easier to bear. Narcissa began to get up.

“You really should start eating again Draco, you look awful.” She remarked as she stood, and smoothed down her cotton skirt. “And take a shower.”

“Mother?” Draco asked searched her face.

“Yes, Draco?”

“Doesn’t it bother you? That I’m-“he stopped before saying it, in case it would be pushing too far.

But his mother merely smiled softly at him. “Draco, I’ve always known. Even if it took me this moment to voice it out loud, I knew.” She sighed and her face pinched as if she was berating herself internally. “I’m not surprised, and no, it doesn’t bother me at all. You are my son and I love you. The rest doesn’t matter doesn’t it?”

Draco heard the echo of Harry’s words. He simply nodded back and looked away to hide the emotion there. But he muttered “Thank you.”

Clearly both of them had used up their quota of outward displays of affection for the day, as his mother said nothing more as she walked out of his room, and Draco sighed with relief as she closed the door.

 

 

**_ Chapter 12 _ **

The first day back at school dragged, though Draco felt tight with tension. He dearly wanted to act on his mother’s words and somehow reunite with Harry, but he had no idea how to. Harry had not replied to his email, so he had no way of knowing whether it had been received or what kind of reception it had been if it was. What if the last thing Harry wanted was reconciliation? What if Draco had been pining away for three weeks, hoping for something that was never likely to happen? Suddenly his mother’s words seemed hollow. Harry wouldn’t want him back after all… but at the end of day came a gesture so familiar it stung. Harry dropped a note on his desk as the school bell sounded, unnoticed by anyone but he.

Draco couldn’t pass the hours quickly enough. He refused to engage in banter with his groupies, instead shutting himself in his room. Already homework was piling up but he could barely focus, instead watching the time tick slowly away on his computer clock, his bedside clock and his watch. He forced himself calm, and in an effort to prevent his thoughts running away with him, he simply emptied his mind, and endeavoured to think of nothing at all. Finally 11 pm came and he deemed it safe to slip out, walking through the empty hallways as fast and as quietly as he could. He arrived at the library slightly out of breath, but his feet had carried him to the familiar nook at the back of the library, and there he stopped. Harry sat on the edge of his seat, hands in his pockets and a bulky, slightly oversized jacket to protect him from the winter chill. He looked flushed and harried, but Draco felt it like a bomb, the sight of him calming the incessant buzzing in his brain. Harry saw him then, and his whole body gave a start, as if from an internal shock. But he recovered quickly, and Draco couldn’t read him. They exchanged a stilted greeting and sat down.

Harry finished chewing his lip. “Um, good holiday?”

Draco blinked slowly, and went for honesty. “No, not really.” He answered.

“Wasn’t too great for me either.” Harry admitted, grinning that same self-deprecating grin that was Draco’s downfall.

Silence. They stood facing each other, both obviously nervous.

“Look, I got your letter.” Harry said, and Draco recalled all the events that followed him writing it like cold water over his head. “I’m not sure where to go from here though. I mean…” he tapered off, and looked at Draco with something resembling hope in his grass green eyes.

Draco steeled himself. Before he and Harry could move forward, he had to tell him.

“Harry, my mother found the letter.” He said.

This time Harry turned pale. He of all people understood what it would mean to be discovered, and it touched Draco deeply that Harry’s first worry was over Draco, and not himself.

“She found…how? How could she find it?” he demanded.

Draco closed his eyes. “I was an idiot and printed it out. I thought of sending you old fashioned mail, in case the email hadn’t gone through… anyway, it was on my desk and she read it Harry.”

Harry was breathing fast, worry still plain on his face, and Draco rushed to calm him.

“She wasn’t surprised, Harry. She wasn’t upset. She told me she would help keep it a secret from my father.” He told him. The words still sounded miraculous to his own ears.  “She told me, that if I had really felt this way about someone, I shouldn’t have to let them go.” Draco continued. “I ended up telling her all about you. About us.”

Harry was not eloquent, it was clear he was speechless.

“So if your sentiments are what they were before Christmas, I would appreciate it if you told me now.” Draco said, and he couldn’t hide the desperate quaver in his voice. “I can’t promise you hand holding, or family dinners, but I can at least promise something. I can promise not to hurt you the way I did again.” Draco spoke, and he wished he could offer him more, but to do so would be to lie, and he refused to lie to Harry. He never had before, and wouldn’t start now.

Wordlessly, Harry got up and walked around the table to sit beside him. He found Draco’s hand inside his jacket, and looked at him.

“I’m really glad you’re back.” He said, grinning.

Draco returned the smile, smiling with relief and happiness. “As am I.”

And there was hope.

 

And later, once he had returned to his room, he saw a message on his phone. It was from his mother.

‘ _Success_?’ was all it said.

He grinned and typed back. ‘Success.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this drama from Draco's perspective, which is a lot more dramatic.

**Author's Note:**

> song for this fic:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmErRm-vApI&list=PLw0kxw5sdy4nBgM-AAnwc_jqp6iG7v19Z&index=3  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaMq2nn5ac0&list=PLw0kxw5sdy4nBgM-AAnwc_jqp6iG7v19Z&index=5


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